by KL Donn
“I’m sorry. I took you somewhere unpleasant, didn’t I?” he asks, following me. The glasses clink together as he carries them tightly. I turn abruptly and take the glasses from his hands. He moves to place the rest of the lemonade in the refrigerator. I can still feel his eyes on me.
I grimace, pushing down the memories. “No. I didn’t play sports. I was a book nerd. Always reading,” I reply quickly, giving him my safest answer to hopefully shut down his attempts to get to know me better.
“Okay. Duly noted.” He picks up the gloves he set down earlier and takes a seat on a saddle bench at the island. I put the leftovers away then rinse off the dishes, leaving them to soak in a little bit of soapy water while we’re at the park. I reach for a small, soft-sided cooler and put an icepack and a few waters inside—anything to fill the awkward silence hanging between us.
Dane’s heavy cleats come thudding down the wooden stairs. “I’m ready.”
Two hours. That’s how long we’ve been at the park and how long Ian has been playing goalkeeper for Dane. Isn’t that the length of a full MLS match? I’m worn out just watching them both. Ian has the stamina of a young man.
Oh, good Lord. He’s taking off his shirt. It was already soaked in sweat and clinging to his body like ivy to a wall— leaving my imagination to its own dirty thoughts. But now, his body is glistening as his abs bunch and roll with every move, causing my vagina to do somersaults watching him. Dane follows Ian’s action and removes his shirt too. I need a drink. I pull a cold water from the cooler and gulp half the bottle in a few seconds.
Dane wants to be a striker too. Ian patiently gives him instructions, and they repeat the same steps over and over until a high-five is earned. Dane’s smile is plastered on his face tonight, even during his times of deep concentration; it’s there for the whole park to see.
Dane flinches in fear a few times when Ian’s arms rise up to bat the ball away when Dane was close to the goalie’s box. They were almost imperceptible, but I see them, and my heart sinks. It’s still there. The fear of his daddy’s hand, and I don’t know if it will ever go away. Bruises fade away and the skin heals, but the mental scars never mend; they just get deeper.
Ian and Dane approach the bench I’m sitting on, claiming to finally be exhausted and thirsty. “No way,” I say jokingly. I hand them both waters from the cooler. “Surely you’ve got another two hours left in your battery life.”
Ian laughs, but Dane just gives me a look. He doesn’t like it when I tease. I need to stop doing that.
“I’m hungry. Starving actually,” Ian proclaims, downing his water and crushing the plastic bottle in his hand. “Do you want to go get something from Portillo’s? It’s on the way back.”
“What’s Portillo’s?” I ask, looking down at my shorts and t-shirt. Dane’s hair is matted to his forehead, and he has dirt smudged on his face. I’m three seconds away from doing the ‘Mom thumb lick’ and wiping it off his cheeks. “It sounds fancy.”
“Oh no. It’s like an old fifties diner, kind of—it’s very laid back. They have the most amazing beef sandwiches, and the best chocolate cake shakes you’ve ever tasted.”
Dane’s eyes pop when Ian mentions chocolate cake shakes. They both look at me, waiting in guarded expectation for the verdict.
“I guess.”
“Hooray,” they holler in unison. They both shake their fists and do a little dance, each trying to outdo the other with their moves.
“This is becoming a bad habit with you.” I shake my finger in the air and poke at his bare chest. The minute my skin touches his, an arc of electricity fires up my spine. “Get dressed, you two. I don’t want my car smelling like a locker room.” They both do as I ask immediately.
With Ian giving directions, we pull into Portillo’s parking lot in a few minutes. It’s packed on a Saturday night. “Wow. This place is insane. Maybe we should find somewhere else to eat?”
“Nah, although it does get crowded at night—the line moves fast. We can go through the drive-thru if you want?”
I nod and move the Jeep into that long line. Within ten minutes, we’re back on the road with two cake shakes and a bag full of food to go. So much for that healthy Ian Legend diet I try to follow. The GPS guides me home, but the media is back out in full force in front of our homes.
“How do you get around this insanity?” I ask as I quickly turn left to come up from the other side of the street.
“I usually park at one of the neighbor’s houses and creep along the bushes and fences in the shadows until I end up in your driveway and go out the back alley,” he explains briefly.
“I’m amazed you haven’t been shot by now.” I pull into our driveway and let out a big sigh of relief when no one pays any attention to my Jeep. They aren’t expecting him in another vehicle. The media can be dumb.
“They all know I do it. I have their permission to trespass in times like this.”
“Well, that’s good.”
We decide to eat on the patio since it’s probably cooler outside than inside at the moment. There’s a nice breeze blowing tonight.
I go inside for plates and napkins. “Dane, could you help me please?”
He joins me quickly, floating on cloud nine as I hold the door open for him.
“Hey, Dane, please grab a few waters from the fridge and carry them outside, and then do me another favor?”
“Yes, Mommy.” He pulls the heavy door open and grabs three waters then looks at me expectantly.
“Try not to get used to him being around us all that much. I know you’re living your best dreams right now, but we can’t take advantage of him being nice to us. We’re simply a distraction from the media. Okay?”
“Okay.” He snuggles the waters close to his body while making his way outside. I watch him set them down on the table then take a seat right next to Ian. They laugh about something I can’t hear, and suddenly my heart is warm and melting.
This is how it’s supposed to be.
I venture back outside and pass around the dreaded plates and napkins. The boys are happy to eat straight from the aluminum wrappers with au jus sauce dripping down their chins. I do my best to hold back my judgmental looks knowing this is fun for them. God knows we need more fun in our lives.
“I need a hinge-mouth just to take a bite of this sandwich.” I laugh. Using my palm, I smash it down a little more until it’s somewhat more manageable. “There.” I pick it up and take a bite, but the dripping still clings to the sides of my mouth and lips. I wipe it with a napkin. Admittedly, several napkins. The boys snicker at my attempt to use my manners.
“Yeah. Portillo’s is an experience. You’re supposed to just dive in face first. That’s why they give you a pound of napkins in the bag.” He lifts them up and fans them at me.
Another blush creeps up my neckline. I can feel my face heat, but it’s mostly covered by the shadows of the patio.
Ian finishes his sandwich and grabs his water. Unscrewing the cap, he chugs down half of it in just a few seconds. Dane reaches for his water too, but then switches and decides to go for the chocolate cake shake. His hand is poised to wrap around the Styrofoam cup, but he hesitates and looks at me quickly. He knows the rules.
“How about just a few sips of that for now as dessert, and then you can have the rest of it for breakfast?” I ask, giving him my best ‘please agree with me in front of company’ look. I bite my lip in anticipation. Please don’t cause a scene. Dane normally doesn’t like to be denied a sweet when it’s close.
“What? For breakfast? That sounds like a great breakfast. I wish I would’ve thought of that,” Ian says, nudging Dane’s knee with his as he cleans up the food wrappers.
Dane nods in agreement and takes a few sips from the straw. “That’s really good. Aren’t you going to have some?” He points to the cup sitting in front of Ian.
“No. That’s for your mom,” Ian says, and pushes it towards me on the table.
“She can’t have it. She’s a
llergic to chocolate,” Dane interjects.
“He’s right. Please take it?” I push it back towards him.
“Wow. That allergy must suck. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t have a love affair with chocolate,” he says, removing the little piece of paper covering the top of the straw and takes a sip. “You’re right. That is good, but I think I’ll save the rest of it for breakfast too.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dane agrees and runs inside to place his in the freezer.
“Thank you,” I say. Our eyes meet, and all of a sudden, I’m flush with heat.
“For what?” He picks up Dane’s trash and adds it to the paper bag.
“For showing up. For actually following through on your promise. For buying us this food. For helping to curb his sweet tooth before bed. I’m sure I could think of a few more,” I say, reaching for the bag to add my sandwich wrapper too.
“All of the ‘thank you’s’ aren’t necessary, I assure you.” He stands and walks our food trash over to the garbage and recycling cans and tosses them in.
Dane comes back outside, letting the screen door slam behind him. “Mom, I’m gonna go play in my room. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Ian says, waving.
“Dane, don’t forget to brush your teeth after that shake,” I holler after him, but he’s already out of sight.
“I’ll let you get back to your Saturday night. It’s close to nine. I’m sure you have a date or something better to do,” I say, standing and pulling down on the edge of my shorts to lengthen them.
He stands too, his body close to mine. An even bigger wave of heat now mixed with desire storms through my body. His fingers reach for me, but I step back, and he hesitates for a moment.
“Goodnight,” he says, grabbing his gloves from the table and heading down the flagstone stairs toward the back gate.
I watch him go, wishing he’d turn around and stay, but I already ruined that moment. The security lights come on in his backyard, so I know he’s home and not coming back.
I head upstairs. Looks like it’s another Saturday date night with by book. Oh, Macen and Alyssa. Will you ever get things right? Will I ever feel whole enough to get things right?
9
Ian
I enter my weight room on the second floor and watch her in her bedroom. I stay hidden in the darkness, not wanting her to know I can see her. The lamp next to her bed casts a soft glow over her skin.
She pulls her t-shirt over her head and shoves her athletic shorts down over her hips. She’s beautiful.
Her pastel panties and bra accentuate her olive-colored skin tone. She walks to the large mirror in the corner, closest to me and looks at herself, turning left and right—running her hands down her body. She pushes in on her stomach, probably wishing it was leaner, but I know she’s perfect just the way she is. Her fingers push and pull at the bags under her eyes. She smiles and the bags soften, but then she touches the crow’s feet that wrinkle at the edge of her eyes and frowns.
Stop it, I want to scream. Stop judging yourself and comparing your body to who you think I date in your mind.
After a few moments, she gives up her self-imposed comparisons and slides her nightgown over her head. Her hand grazes across a book on the nightstand. Her fingers wrap around its spine, and she carries it to her little reading nook I saw earlier, curling her body against the back of the chaise lounge. I can’t see her face anymore, but the restlessness of her legs tells me that Macen has messed up again. Or has she already moved on to another, more behaved, character? I’ll have to ask her.
My dick is thick in my shorts from lusting after Neenah. I emerge from the shadows and go take a shower, leaving my dirty thoughts of her behind.
Well, not entirely behind. I can’t shake the image of her hands running down her stomach and past her hips. She’s erotic to watch. Now as the warm water washes over me, I take my dick in my hand and pump it harder and harder, thinking of her lips on my skin and her long fingers tracing over my body.
“Ahh, Neenah,” I exhale. My fingers circle my dick tighter, re-gripping it and putting more pressure towards the tip. Harder. Harder. And harder, until I explode against the tile. I brace myself and let the water wash me clean. Jesus Christ, that felt good, but not as good as the real thing.
My phone buzzes across the coffee table, waking me up from a dead sleep. I pry my eyes open and pull it into my line of sight. It’s Todd. It’s also just after 7:00 AM. I slide up on the bobbing arrow. “What do you want this early?”
“You’re supposed to be meeting me for breakfast. It’s the third Sunday of the month,” he growls through gritted teeth.
I sit up on my couch, never having made it to bed last night. I rub my face with rough hands, scratching the five o’clock shadow that’s growing there quickly. “Where are you?”
“You have to be kidding me? I left Tia in a warm bed only for you to stand me up. Where’s the loyalty?”
“C’mon, man. I’m up. Tell me where we’re meeting again, and I’ll be there soon.” I race up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time in my bare feet.
“Who is it this time? Just tell me her name so I can hate her sufficiently later when you stop seeing her.”
“There’s no one here. I spent my night on the couch watching a Die Hard marathon, and before that, I played goalkeeper for the neighbor’s kid for two hours. Todd, I promise you. I just overslept since I never made it to bed last night.”
“All right. I’m at the Egg Harbor Café,” he says, finally relenting.
“Great. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hang up on him and pull a fresh t-shirt on while jamming my feet into my Sperry’s. I grab my keys and head into the garage. I feel like I’ve hardly gotten to use it in the past week with the media camped outside. I hit the opener and watch it rise behind me. I zip out the minute my car will clear the opening, and turn down the block before anyone catches me.
Within a few minutes, I pull into the parking lot and take the space next to Todd. I grab my baseball cap out of the glove box and slide it over my head, tugging the bill down low.
I’m starving. Todd waves, catching my attention as soon as I enter the door. I let the hostess know my party is already seated, and she lets me pass without a word.
“See? Told you I’d be quick.” I slide into the bench seat across from him and turn my coffee cup over, adding some creamer to it. A waitress stops by quickly and pours coffee on top of the creamer, swirling it to a perfect shade of tan.
Removing my hat, I take a sip and sink back against the tufted back of the cushion. “Man, you look rough. What did you say you did last night with the neighbor’s kid?” He hands me a menu, and I open it up.
“I took the new neighbor’s kid to the park, and we played soccer for almost two hours. Then we stopped by Portillo’s so I could introduce them to the Chocolate Cake Shake.”
“Them?” He arches his brow in question. “Hot Mom or Nerdy Dad?”
I bow my head down, burying it in the menu to hide my guilty smile, and turn the page looking for the omelets. “Ha! Hot Mom. I knew it. You’re shameless. Hot Mom. Really? Like, how hot are we talking?”
I look up at him and wrinkle my brow, thinking. “How hot is the surface of the sun?”
“Damn,” he bellows, disturbing the other patrons near us.
I shush him and look around us.
A family with small kids is eating one table over. The mother casts a dirty look in our direction, so I wave. “Sorry, ma’am.” Her eyes slide back to her menu without acknowledging my apology. “Jesus, keep your voice down. I don’t need any more press. Speaking of which, I lost my BodyArmor sports drink contract.”
He blows out a long breath. “That sucks. Have you spoken with Andy? Is he getting you a PR person to help manage this shit storm?”
The waitress comes over to take our order. I hold off on responding until she leaves. I hate talking business in public places.
As soon as she leaves, I lean fo
rward. “I hate PR people. All those canned responses and circled campfire stories. It’s just not me.” I shake my head in frustration.
“Which is exactly why you need to find one that you mesh with. Don’t just hire a person for the job. Hire the right person for the job who understands your brand. One who identifies with your demographics. One that you agree to,” he says, tapping the table with his index finger for emphasis.
“Brand? Demographics? Who have you been talking to?” I ask. These are words he doesn’t normally use. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him spout those words to me. Ever.
“What do you mean?” He takes a sip of his coffee and peers over the rim of his cup at me. He doesn’t maintain solid eye contact.
“All right. Spill it. Who does Tia recommend?”
He looks at me blankly and takes another sip of his coffee.
“Well, c’mon. Give me a name. It’s gotta be a friend of a friend or cousin maybe? Something like that. That’s how this works, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t be that way,” he lashes out at me.
“I have two words, Cherry Wright.” He flinches when I hold up two fingers, and her name leaps off my tongue. “Don’t be fooled into letting people into our tight circle because Tia sucks dick really well. There is a reason our circle is tight. You know the rules we set in place because of she who shall not be named EVER again. Just follow the rules.”
God, I hate lecturing him. I feel like a dick now, but the worst thing that could ever happen to us is some girl tearing us apart by using him to get to me. I won’t allow it. Again. And I’m mentally stressing AGAIN!
“How about you meet her before you judge her?” He rakes his hands through his hair and scratches his neck. “You could throw a pool party, and I’ll bring her over. That keeps it light and open to whatever conversation may arise.”